


The Tiger and the Dead Girl

by goldenheartprincess



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Abuse, Dark I Know Well mentions basically, Dubious Consent, F/M, THIS IS NOT A WORK SHIPPING WENDLA AND MELCHIOR, just so you know, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 06:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12315351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheartprincess/pseuds/goldenheartprincess
Summary: A one-shot songfic of Wendla reviewing her life as it ends, and understanding how life has killed the dreamed she dreamed.(I Dreamed a Dream- Les Miserables)





	The Tiger and the Dead Girl

**Author's Note:**

> So this was an idea I was playing with when I was listening to Les Mis for the 24601st time, and I was listening to Fantine, but I heard Wendla. Nothing but angst, and a very different writing style from my usual work. Sort of a stream of consciousness sort of thing.

_ There was a time when men were kind _

"Stay here and stay quiet." The mysterious man told her, throwing her onto a table in a dark room, as one candle in the corner flickered in time with Wendla's heartbeat. She wasn't sure why she was here or what was happening, but she knew it wasn't good. It's Melchior, she knew. It was something that he did when they were together. In the cold abyss of where she was, she shivered, being granted the knowledge that she was not likely to survive whatever this was.

_ When their voices were soft _

She held the switch in her fingers, trembling as she approached the boy in the grass. He refused. He said no. He wasn't going to hit her. 

_ And their words inviting _

The time before, he asked if she would stay with him or if he could walk her home. Melchior had such a kind smile and shimmering eyes, and she sat on the mossy grass, hearing words that nobody was saying.

_ There was a time when love was blind _

And the third time she visited him, the last time, she was so very blind. He kissed her and she fell in love. She believed in love and believed that was love. She looked up at the ceiling, that she couldn't really see, and inhaled mildew and stone. 

On the table, she shifted her weight around, lying on her back. It was a familiar position, with her legs slightly parted. Visions of Melchior danced in her head and she believed in love.

_ And the world was a song _

He began to play music on her as if she was a violin and his fingers knew how to pluck the melody. She didn't know, at the time, or even now, what each note meant. How crescendos and accents would wrap together to form a song and a bond and a child. She would not have agreed to be an instrument in his art if she had known.

_ And the song was exciting _

But she would have been lying to deny that a part of her, a part that was much older and still more clueless, enjoyed lying there and being part of an orchestra, a symphony, of only her and her player. She was never told to not enjoy something so complex.

_ There was a time _

The Sonata didn't last very long, as once Melchior was done, he packed his violin back in its case without checking the strings and such for their own enjoyment. 

_ Then it all went wrong _

Towards the end, she let out a scream as the bow pierced through where she did not expect. She was never taught to expect. She knew, in that moment (and knowing was a very new concept to Wendla), that they had done something horribly powerful and there was a reason why she was not told of it before.

_ I dreamed a dream in time gone by _

She, like the other girls, dreamed of their weddings to the schoolboys. They imagined their dresses and their flowers. They all fawned over Melchior, other the rest, and Wendla wouldn't have admitted the beauty she believed was in his eyes.

_ When hope was high _

She would wear something off-white, and something that made her feel like a fairy princess. She would dance around her room before the ceremony, imagining her first waltz with Melchior. She spent hours dreaming of a future that she would never truly reach.

_ And life worth living _

She would have his child someday, but she knew that it wouldn't have been the stork's doing. They would grow old together, in two rocking chairs, helping their children learn about God. Or maybe they wouldn't, as she never knew where Melchior stood on the matter of religion.

_ I dreamed that love would never die _

With or without God, they would love each other until death did they part.

_ I dreamed that God would be forgiving _

But death, she felt, would part them far sooner than intended.

What the did in their third meeting was wrong. She knew that much. She prayed for nights and nights that God would forgive her for what she did. Melchior, on the other hand, prayed to nobody and saw no sin in their act. If he believed in a God to pray to, he would tell the deity how wonderful he and Wendla were, and how enjoyable it was for him.

_ Then I was young and unafraid _

The truth was, Wendla didn't know there was anything to fear. Surely, this boy, this friend, wouldn't do anything to hurt her. He wouldn't have an agenda of his own. He didn't mean to rip her apart until she cried out to the willow trees. She was young, yes, but there was something too mature about the choice she had forced upon her.

_ And dreams were made and used and wasted _

In her final moments, which could have been hours or days, she had no way to know, she understood something for the first time in her life; not everything was okay. Fairy Tales were the only stories with happy endings, and she was not a fairy princess.

_ There was no ransom to be paid _

She believed in Jesus and God and Adam and Eve and everything, with her entire heart. That was her biggest flaw; believing too easily. She believed that Jesus died on the cross for her sins, but she couldn't help but to recall her life before the sin, before the third meeting.

_ No song unsung _

Melchior hummed quietly, as he scribbled notes in his journal. She sat and watched, forming crowns out of daisies. He had a soft and gentle voice, and she remembered hearing it in church growing up. Growing up. That made it sound like they were already grown.

_ No wine untasted _

She'd only ever had champagne at her sister's wedding, but when Melchior kissed her, she tasted wine and whiskey on his lips, as she was drunk in her own ideal of love.  _ This is what love must be, right? He wouldn't kiss me if he didn't love me.  _ She thought, trying to find some flaw in her logic. It all added up, she believed.

_ But the tigers come at night _

Wendla could never imagine Melchior being a tiger, a lion, or anything ferocious. He was a kitten to her, a Persian cat at most. With the switch in his hand, at their second meeting, his fangs came out as the tiger inside pounced onto his prey. He hit. And he hit and he hit and he hit. It was quick and rapid, as she realized she was on the ground.

_ With their voices soft as thunder _

_ " _ Bitch!" She remembered he said, as tears stung her cheeks. This is what Martha felt. She understood it now, the loathing of yourself and questioning of the man. She didn't hate Melchior, she just didn't know why he did it. And that's how Martha and Ilse saw the world, wasn't it?

_ As they tear your hope apart _

She only felt this sort of degradation once, and Wendla just couldn't imagine feeling this every night. She would have cracked, broken under the pressure. And Ilse... she became a diamond. Rare and missing, but coveted.

Melchior had shifted into this mindset of hate so quickly, Wendla couldn't see how that was possible. Any hope she had of marrying him, or any other man for that matter, ripped apart in second. What if they turned so easily? What if she was nothing but a porcelain doll to them?

_ As they turn your dream to shame _

Boys never really cared for the beauty of porcelain dolls, they saw more enjoyment in watching them shatter onto the wooden floors than watching them dance on a music box. Wendla understood that now. And yet, she saw such good in Melchior, that if he broke a doll he would feel such remorse that set him aside from the rest as if nobody else could experience guilt.

_ He slept a summer by my side _

It was only one day they had together, but it felt like a season passed as she gazed up at the empty sky, her dress undone and hiked up. Melchior had left her there, and she felt like a corpse, just a body in a field.

_ He filled my days with endless wonder _

There was something to be said for the way she felt, but it was too quickly over, with no true satisfaction. Although she did not know what an orgasm was, Wendla knew there was something missing in their encounter, and Melcioir was to blame. Up to that meeting, every day with him was a magic to be enjoyed. He spoke of wisdom and shame and truth, and she was hypnotized by his every word.

_ He took my childhood in his stride _

But now, lying once again without satisfaction, she realized that Melchior was far more to blame than she suspected. She would die, and it was truly his fault. She did not know what they were doing, but he clearly did. It would be wrong to say "what they were doing" because it was him. It was what he was doing.

_ But he was gone when autumn came _

After Moritz had been expelled, Melchior was pulled from school. It was near the end of the year, but he was sent away to a reformatory. Autumn hadn't come yet, it was just the awakening of spring now. Either way, he was gone, and not holding Wendla's hand as she waited in the agony (the sort that only comes to those who wait) of not knowing when the doctor was to return.

_ And still, I dream he'll come to me _

And yet, she hoped he would somehow appear from the shadows, holding onto her for dear life, comforting her as the man did whatever he was going to do. Maybe he was snuck out of his school for the week and was waiting for the right time to appear.

"Melchior," She heard herself whisper, just loud enough for anyone in the room to hear, but not so the doctor would return and scold her. "are you here?"

Of course, there was no response.

_ That we will live the years together _

If he stepped out, he might provide the strength she needed to survive whatever this was. And then they would marry and spent their lives together.

_ But there are dreams that cannot be _

"Melchior," She repeated to no avail. "please." 

She spoke to nobody, not even to a god. _ If there was a god, _ she thought, _ I would not feel so alone. _ There would be no wedding, no future, no child, no dress, no ceremony, no waltz, and no love.

_ And there are storms we cannot weather _

"Melchior," She said for a third time, this time for herself. There was nothing left for a girl so full of hope to believe in. She just spoke softly for her own sanity. "I wish you were here."

_ I had a dream my life would be _

Footsteps echoed through the room, too heavy to be Melchior. The doctor approached, sliding on gloves as if he cared about her survival. It was better to be dead than a slut.

_ So different from this hell I'm living _

She couldn't recall the pain she felt, the blood trailing over her fingers as she screamed until he stuffed a cloth into her mouth. He sliced and cut and she could do nothing but think of Melchior and how she loved him dearly but he, he did this to her.

_ So different now from what it seemed _

He seemed so gentle and kind and full of love and life, but he did this to her. There was so much blood, so much exposure to the moldy underground, as she grew numb. Her screaming died down as she choked back tears.

_ Now life has killed _

There could be no wedding, or love, or Melchior, or any of that.

You cannot marry a dead girl.

_ The dream I dreamed _

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I hate Melchior Gabor as a person but love him as a character.  
> You can follow me on Tumblr @goldenheartprincess.  
> If you want to make me cry happy tears, leave me a comment.


End file.
